


Surviving

by haveloved



Category: The OC
Genre: Drama, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-04-12
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:16:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haveloved/pseuds/haveloved
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU. Still reeling from separate tragedies, Ryan and Marissa have put the O.C. far behind them and moved to the same snowy NY town. Meeting by chance in a support group for the bereaved, they learn to live again and how to heal each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first Ryan/Marissa fic and my first fic for The O.C. in general, and I'm really excited to start posting it here. Updates will hopefully be fairly regular, but I am a college student with limited time as well as other projects, so that's negligible. But given that this is my first fic for this category, I'd really appreciate reviews. It's AU, so some characterizations (Julie, for instance) might be different from how they turned out in canon. The circumstances of this AU will be more fully explained as things go on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, everyone! This is my first Ryan/Marissa fic and my first fic for The O.C. in general, and I'm really excited to start posting it here. Updates will hopefully be fairly regular, but I am a college student with limited time as well as other projects, so that's negligible. But given that this is my first fic for this category, I'd really appreciate reviews. It's AU, so some characterizations (Julie, for instance) might be different from how they turned out in canon. The circumstances of this AU will be more fully explained as things go on.

Surviving

I.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

 _Monday, November 30th, 2015_

None of the twenty-eight Christmases of his life have ever seemed this hard. When he'd lived with his mother and Trey in Chino, they'd never been Christmas people. Holidays were something they didn't have money for and never paid attention to. The Cohens had changed that, had given him a little something of the holiday spirit.

For the past two years, though, he hasn't been able to get back into it. He has moved from the sunny OC to the frigidity of upstate New York, and he sees the Cohens for the holidays and only a few other times a year. He has just lost his holiday spirit, period.

A well-meaning neighbor had stopped by the day before—her name was Terri, he was pretty sure. She was in her early forties and surely on her way to becoming one of those neighborhood busybodies in a decade or two more. She arrived on his doorstep with a plate of Christmas cookies, smiling irrepressibly even when he opened it in his pajamas and bathrobe, with a few day's worth of stubble still on his face and a somewhat exhausted frown.

"Hi, Ms. Longenfeld," he said, with a weary air. "Is there anything you needed?"

"No, not at all, Ryan. Thank you, though, for asking. I just wanted to give you these—" she practically thrust the plate into his hands "—and see if you needed any help with decorations. I noticed you have none put up."

She made a gesture to the outside of his house, which was the only bare one on the block. He caught her almost imperceptibly craning her neck, attempting to check the inside—surely no one could be such a Scrooge as to have _none_ of his house decorated? It appeared she would not stand for it. He shifted slightly to block her view, giving her a hollow but somewhat believable smile.

"No, thanks, Mrs. Longenfeld. I'm just not much into the holiday spirit this year."

"Well, if you change your mind, just come on by and I can set you up with some of the extra Christmas lights," said Mrs. Longenfeld cheerily. "Have a nice day, Ryan."

"You too, Mrs. Longenfeld. Thanks."

He spends this day in his living room, which is, as Mrs. Longenfeld suspected, bare of any holiday decorations. He has not mustered up a single ornament or holiday photo. The remnants of his Christmas-celebrating life sit in a box in the attic, one that he should have thrown away two years ago but has somehow hung onto.

It is only the Monday after Thanksgiving, but already the holiday commercials have started. He wishes they would have the courtesy to wait until a few more days, even if December is starting tomorrow. It is always a slap in the face, how suddenly the holiday season comes on; he thought so even before he stopped celebrating.

The phone rings as he flips through channels, trying to find any network that is not running a Christmas commercial. He stops on one showing a mindless game show, and the answering machine does its job. He has no outgoing message; there does not seem to be a need. Anyone calling the number knows that he lives here and lives alone.

" _Ryan, it's Kirsten. I'm just calling to say that we missed you at Thanksgiving, and we really wanted to know if you'd be coming out for Chrismukkah dinner."_ There is a faint laugh behind her words; clearly she still finds the thought of her son's super holiday amusing.

" _We know it's been hard for you these past two years, but we'd really like to see you around here again. It would be nice to have the family together. I also wanted to know if you'd thought about restarting your business? I know some people out in your area that would be willing to help you get it up and running again._

" _We just want to hear from you again—about anything. Whether or not you're coming for dinner, just give us a call. All right? We love you. Good-bye, Ryan."_

He appreciates Kirsten's efforts to reach out. He does. She and Sandy have tried their hardest the past few years. They made him stay over their place for a few weeks afterwards, not wanting him alone. Sandy stops by every once in a while, makes an excuse about seeing friends in New York, but Ryan knows it's a lie. He knows it's a lie the same way he does when Seth comes across the country with the excuse that a band is in town and he is dragging Summer to their concert, and hey, isn't that concert right by Ryan's place?

He looks at the clock, then outside, not having realized how late it has gotten. He has somewhere to be, the same place he has gone twice weekly for the past year, but he doesn't see it helping. It hasn't yet—why would it?

But he still has to go, so he gets up and gets dressed and heads out the door, getting in his car and heading off to the place he is meant to be.

* * *

She stands in the shower, under the scalding water, for as long as she can. The water is so hot that her skin feels almost cold—numb, certainly, just like the rest of her.

It has been six months, but it still does not feel any different than it did the day after it happened, a week later, a month. Her things are still here. Her shampoo and conditioner still sit in the plastic bath rack, hanging from the shower head. Her toothbrush and razor still sit on the sink. Her towel still hangs from the back of the door.

The only thing that's missing is her medication. Most of it had been gone anyway, but she'd taken the initiative of flushing it herself the day after it happened. There wasn't a point to it anymore, right?

She gets out of the shower after turning off the water, standing in the cold for few seconds before she wraps herself in one towel and her hair in another. She waits for the steamy mirror to clear before she begins brushing out her hair. The motions of it are simple, and she doesn't have to think. She doesn't feel like thinking anymore.

She doesn't even know why she agreed to go out tonight, when she doesn't think it will help. Talking never really did. When she'd been at the _recovery center_ (airquote, airquote) in San Diego, that had been all they'd ever wanted her to do. Talk, talk, talk. She never had, and eventually they'd given up on her, letting her out as soon as they could.

She'd never gone back to Newport. She'd gone to a private school in San Diego and then on to Pepperdine University. Julie had never wanted her to come back to Newport, anyway—wanted to keep her away from Ryan, Summer, her father, any of the people that really _meant_ something to her. Never had she once considered that it would probably have _helped_ her.

She doubts this support group will. It was one of those places where you got together to talk and cry and bond over losing a loved one, because that wasn't almost as depressing as the loss itself, was it? It was supposed to be uplifting, having people to share your grief with. She honestly thought it was bullshit, but a neighbor had very kindly recommended it and offered—with little room for refusal—to drive her. Marissa had said thank you, and maybe she would. She couldn't really back out now that it was the day of.

After she dries off, she gets dressed in a white sweater and a worn-out pair of jeans, throwing her coat on over that. She has never gotten used to how frigid New York can get in the winter. It used to be fifty degrees on Christmas in Newport. In upstate New York, it's fifty below.

Her neighbor is waiting on her porch, bundled against the cold. She is in her early thirties, not much older than Marissa, but she is married with two small boys and a dog, that perfect suburban housewife. Her name is Janet. She smiles as Marissa comes out onto the porch and locks the door behind her.

"I was hoping you hadn't changed your mind. Well, we'd better get going; wouldn't want you showing up late to your first meeting," she says cheerily, leading Marissa carefully down the slightly iced-over walkway. "How have you been doing lately?"

"Better," Marissa lies, the words coming off her lips without thought, and, she thinks, sounding almost believable. She wonders if the people in the support group will do the same thing, this effortless lying, or if they will all be the sobbing, hysterical types she'd seen in the _recovery center_. And some recovery center it had been—she didn't think she'd ever seen any of those girls stop crying.

The support group is held in one room of the community center. She has been here before once or twice, for town dances or for food drives. Either way, she recognizes it—just as she thinks she recognizes the man leaning against a telephone pole, lighting a cigarette, as they pull into the driveway.

A familiar feeling stirs in her veins. It is not the craving for nicotine, but the craving for something else entirely. She wonders if he recognizes her, if he remembers. She gets out of the car almost as soon as Janet stops and gives her a quick thank you. And she slowly walks over to the man she's sure she knows.

* * *

"Who are you?"

He looks up, like he is about to answer, before she sees the recognition set in and his eyes widen. She has chosen her words deliberately in the few seconds she had to think it over.

" _Who are you?"_

" _Whoever you want me to be."_

He takes the cigarette out from between his lips, stunned. "Marissa?"

"Ryan." She smiles faintly, and even that small action feels as if she hasn't done it in years. It's funny how quickly she has forgotten.

"It's been… what, twelve years?"

"Yeah." She flicks her hair back behind her ear and motions to the pack of cigarettes in his hand. "Can I bum one off you?"

He hands it to her just as he did that day, lighting it with his own lit one rather than the lighter. The action is strangely intimate. She inhales, taking in the scent of the smoke and the scent of him as it reaches her on the wind. He smells like soap and a faint, spicy aftershave.

"When did you come to New York?" she asks, noticing that he is even more silent than he was that first day in Newport.

"About a year and a half ago. You?"

"After college. Pepperdine."

"UC Berkeley. Cold enough for you?"

"Yeah, I think so." She laughs a little, and that, too, feels foreign. She wonders what he is here for, and asks.

"Support group." She looks up in surprise, in time to catch the eye roll that accompanies the words. He catches her surprise and starts to say that it isn't normally his thing, but she stops him.

"No. That's not why I was surprised… well, it sort of was. That's… what I'm here for."

It is his turn to look surprised, and he does. There is a moment of shared hesitation as they wonder—should they ask? Do they want to be the nosy people they always hate, the people who wonder how, when, why it happened? Do they open that sore now or do they rip off the band aid later?

The decision is made for them when Ryan looks at his watch—time to go in. He ashes his cigarette on the sidewalk and waits for her to do the same. _Now or never,_ his expression says, and she feels a strange sense of something beginning as she leaves the ashes on the sidewalk and follows him inside.


	2. Drink Me

II.

Drink Me

" _It's the first Thanksgiving we've had without her. I realized I never really knew how to make a turkey. I had to go online and Google it. That was the worst part of all: I never realized before how much she hadn't taught me…"_

" _I put out the wrong number of place settings. I didn't even notice until my daughter said to me, 'Daddy, why'd you put one in front of Mommy's chair?'"_

" _I'm starting to hear the Christmas songs on the radio again. He always used to love Christmas songs. I used to make fun of him for having so many CDs of them…"_

The stories are all the same. They're all about the little things you never notice, and the things Marissa is sure don't matter to anyone else but the person telling the story. Well, maybe she is being unfair. Judging by the number of people nodding along and crying, the stories clearly mean something to _them_. And maybe they would to her, if she really thought about it.

But her mind is on anything else but the tales of the other members, which is really the point of the group. Her mind is on Ryan, who is sitting stoically, arms crossed, brooding like he always did back in Newport. It surprises her that so little has changed, and yet that everything seems to have changed.

Why is he here? She cannot fathom it. She'd come to upstate New York to get away from the rush of California—eventually she had realized that the environment of California, the constant pressure to keep up, might have been contributing to her problems. She'd needed a place to calm down, and she'd found one.

But Ryan had had such a life going for him back in Newport, or at least, he had when she'd met him. She didn't understand why he was out here, in this place where nothing happened and nothing ever would, attending a support group for the bereaved.

And from the sounds of it, it was one he'd been attending for a while. The counselor running the group, a man named Jeff, had said a warm hello and asked how he was. Ryan had given a noncommittal response and moved on. Marissa had not been so lucky; she had been snared by Jeff and made to endure the ritual of introducing the newcomer. _"Everyone, this is Marissa. Her loss occurred six months ago. She's new here, so everyone welcome her…"_

" _Now, you're not required to speak,"_ Jeff had told her as everyone filtered in. _"We would really like it if you did, but some people don't grieve in that way and we're fine with that. Ryan—you met him—he's been coming for a year now and I don't think we've ever heard him say a word beyond introducing himself. But if you want to speak up, feel free. We meet twice weekly—Mondays and Thursdays."_

She wonders why it is that Ryan hasn't spoken. She knows part of it is just who he is, but it seems odd to her that he has been coming for a year and still has not felt the need to say anything. Who has he lost? She can't remember hearing anything about his life after they'd parted ways. She'd lost contact with Summer; her mom cutting her off from everyone had seen to that. She didn't really know about his life, did she?

Then again, he doesn't know about hers. She isn't quite sure she's ready to tell yet, either. He hasn't made any move to say anything to her about his own loss; she thinks maybe neither of them are ready to go there yet. For now, silence will be fine.

She tries again to focus on the stories being told, but Ryan is more interesting. The stories all seem to be hitting the same notes—the person had died too soon, hadn't taught them what they were supposed to, had so much in front of them, didn't get to be a grandmother or grandfather, an aunt or uncle, a big sister or brother. Tonight, she can't bring herself to focus on the grief of others, not when her own still feels raw and painful, even after six months.

Without being obvious, or at least she hopes not, she takes him in again, focusing more on the details. Given the cold weather and the fact that it's been twelve years, he appears to have graduated from his white wifebeater fixation and is wearing a gray t-shirt that nonetheless hugs his muscles. And she will admit to herself that he still looks _good_. His hair is shorter and better trimmed. There is the barest trace of scruff along his jaw; he hasn't shaven for a few days.

Vaguely, she hears Jeff say that time is up and that they will, as usual, meet again on Thursday. Ryan gets up to leave, but he lingers by the exit, and as she gathers her purse, she realizes he is waiting for her. She finds herself smiling a little as she approaches him and follows him outside.

Her phone buzzes with a text message from Janet, telling her that she is running late and won't be able to pick her up for at least another hour. Marissa tells her it's all right, and can't help but think this is fate—she can spend more time with Ryan.

"Thought you might want to play some catchup," he says as they halt outside the front doors, pointing across the street. "There's a decent bar if you don't mind a drink."

He knows her well, she thinks, or at least, _knew_ her. She tries not to drink to excess anymore, and in the last few years, she has really cut down on her habit. A part of her fears she'll lose control, but another minute's thought reminds her that she is with Ryan. She feels safe with him, knows nothing will happen around him. No harm will come to her. He has rescued her before.

She nods in agreement and starts across the street with him. The ground is icy, and he reaches out one of his hands and rests it on her lower back to steady her. The light pressure of his hand on her back, reassuring and solid, is enough to send sparks of heat down her spine. She suddenly finds herself wondering what it would feel like to be wrapped in those arms. He has carried her twice before—into the pool house, out of the alley—but she can't remember either of them. She wishes she could, now.

The bar is small and vaguely smoky. She sees the barkeep give Ryan a familiar nod and greet him by name. Memories tug at her as she remembers Tijuana, remembers the last time she let herself lose control in a place like this. But there is still Ryan's hand on her back, still the knowledge that Ryan is the one who saved her.

She sits at a booth while Ryan goes to the bar and returns with two beers. He opens hers by lightly smacking the neck of the bottle against the table, enough to loosen the cap, and hands it to her. "It's been a while," is all he says at first. After another minute: "I tried a few times to get in touch with you. Your mother was against it."

"Believe me, I know." Marissa rolls her eyes. "I fought her on coming back to Newport. Guess she thought people would talk; didn't want me back there."

"I guess part of that's my fault. She always said I was a bad influence," He looks around the bar and she thinks she catches his lips twitching faintly upward. "Guess she'd still say that now."

"No, no. This isn't bad. It's…" She fishes for words and takes another sip of the beer. Liquid courage? Maybe. "It's helpful. It helped, having someone I knew in there."

Again, both of them pause. She is the one who breaks the silence this time. "Jeff says you never talk. Why do you go if you don't?"

He shrugs, taking another swig of beer before he answers. "Because there's no one else around. Living alone… only person I see is a nosy neighbor, from time to time. Sometimes it's just nice to be around people after being alone for days on end."

It strikes her that it hurts to hear that. In Newport, he'd been a loner, but she'd at least seen that he was being taken care of, that he had people around him who loved him—the Cohens had done him good. Now, though, it looks like he has no one, just like her.

"You can always call," Marissa offers. "I live the next town over. I could come by with a movie or some takeout…"

She makes the offer hesitantly, not sure if he'll accept. She's not sure if she's the only one wanting sparks to fly, hoping that they already have. They missed their connection the first time around; it had been ruined by bad choices and unfortunate timing. She glances up from her beer for a second and unintentionally locks gazes with Ryan.

"That neighbor is keeping me well-supplied with food," Ryan says, a beat later. "But yeah. That sounds nice." He scrawls his number on a napkin and passes it to her. She does the same with another, handing it back to him.

They make vague small talk for the rest of their hour, and Marissa finds herself treading very delicately, still avoiding the very obvious question of _why_ he was at the group, besides the desire for human contact. She notices that he doesn't broach the subject of why _she_ was there, either. When Marissa gets the text from Janet saying that she's back at the community center and waiting, she gets up, slightly buzzed from two beers, and smiling.

"I have a ride back to my place. Are you okay to drive?" she asks, and Ryan waves a hand.

"I don't live that far; I can walk."

"You sure? It's cold out…"

"And you live in the opposite direction. I'll leave the car at the center and get it tomorrow; I've done it before."

That has her picturing it—has he spent the last year of his life drinking alone after a support group for grieving relatives? His life now seems horribly depressing, and again it hits her how much that hurts her to hear.

Before she can question herself, she leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "It was nice talking to you again, Ryan," she says, with a bit of a smile on her face. "I'll call you sometime before the next meeting, okay?"

"Okay. Get home safe, Marissa."

"You too, Ryan. 'Bye."

* * *

He walks home as he has many times over the past year, treading carefully to avoid the ice. He is not as buzzed as he could be, not even close to drunk, but he does not want to take chances by driving. After seeing numerous examples of it from his mother's fucked-up suitors, he'd always decided that was one thing he never wanted to try, and it had been working for him.

His mind drifts, as he walks, to Marissa Cooper, back in his life now like some ghost from his past. And it's true that in some ways, her appearance earlier had had him wondering for a second if he was, in fact, seeing things. Everything about her manner had suggested she was deliberately invoking their first meeting.

He'd wondered, over the years, if she'd forgotten him. He'd known Julie was probably behind her never contacting him, but still, he'd always wondered if Marissa had even wanted to contact him anyway. But what was he to her? He was the acquaintance with whom she'd had a very, very brief flirtation. They'd shared a cigarette, a dance, a bed… and then nothing.

She's changed. He could see that much. She wasn't drinking heavily, had seemed to rein herself in very well. Her hair was shorter, just hitting her shoulders, though it was still pin straight, still blonde. Her eyes still had that same sparkle that he only really saw when she smiled. But she was thinner—her sweater had been a little too big, her jeans hanging a little loosely from her narrow hips, like she'd lost weight since she'd worn all of it last. She looked paler than he remembered, and it hadn't seemed like it had been from lack of sun.

And there's the question of why _she_ was at the support group in the first place. Neither of them had asked; neither of them had dared. He wonders which one of them will be first. He wonders if he will want to tell her.

One thing he will admit to himself is that he _does_ want to see her again. She'd given him her number, and it hadn't seemed like she was with anyone. Not like last time. He's not sure yet what this could be—or what he _wants_ it to be. But there's no harm in being friends, right?

He lets himself into the darkened house and thinks about the kind of night he's had. _Old ghosts_. Marissa is one. And if tonight he saw a ghost, he figures there's more than enough reason to see two more. He walks into the living room and turns on his laptop.

While he waits for it to boot up, he grabs another beer from the fridge and checks the answering machine—one was left while he was out. He presses the button and uses his bottle opener to open the beer as it plays.

" _Hey, kid. It's Sandy. Kirsten told me she called you, but I figured I'd give you one, too. Let you know that I'll be back down there again soon; a friend of mine asked me to guest lecture in Buffalo. And Kirsten doesn't know, but I'm coming out there with another plane ticket, kid. If you could at least consider heading back to Newport for the holidays… well… I'm sure I don't have to say it. So I'll be stopping by next week. See you then, Ryan."_

The tone sounds and Ryan deletes the message. He gets enough calls from the Cohens in a week that the tape runs out if he doesn't. He's sure Seth's call will be next, then perhaps Summer's. It's just neverending. He calls once or twice a week, but mostly the messages go unanswered.

He sits down at the laptop, now that it is started, and clicks through his folders to find what he is looking for. Like many men, Ryan Atwood has a large folder of videos sitting on his computer. Unlike many men, these videos are barely looked at, accessed only two or three times a year, if that.

" _And here we have the bride and groom, having their first dance… Ryan, say hi to the camera."_

" _Can I say that I'd like the camera to not be quite so close to my face, Seth?"_

" _Oh, shush. We'll have a nice memento of our first dance," Jenna says lightly, brushing an errant red curl over her shoulder and then looking towards the camera herself. "Although it would be great if you could back up a few feet, Seth; you're standing on my train."_

" _Right. Sorry."_

It feels like a lifetime ago, though it's barely been six years. Six years, though, may well be a lifetime. They were twenty-two and just graduating from UC Berkeley. _Ryan and Jenna Atwood_ , the announcement in the Newport papers had said. And then, about a year later, the card they'd sent out to relatives and friends: _Ryan and Jenna Atwood announce the arrival of Cody Arthur Atwood…_

The next video in the folder plays; he does not have them organized chronologically, so the next one to come up is—naturally, he thinks, because this is some kind of joke, but one he can't look away from—Jenna and him doing their holiday decorating; she'd insisted on filming everything leading up to baby's first Chrismukkah. Ryan is thumbtacking the stockings to the wall, whereas Jenna is putting ornaments on the tree, Cody held to her hip.

" _Sandy's on latke duty this year, right?" she says as she hangs up a shining red Christmas ball. Cody stretches his little hands towards it, making a happy gurgle as he sees the light reflecting off it._

" _Yeah, same as last year. Same as every year, really; Seth prefers supervising the food making, and my last try at it caused the Great Latke Burning of '03." He finishes getting Cody's stocking up and then walks over to Jenna, relieving her of Cody and lifting him into his arms, then leaning in to kiss her._

" _Mmm, Merry Chrismukkah, Ryan," Jenna murmurs into his lips._

" _Merry Chrismukkah, Jenna."_

He finishes off the last of his beer and lets the videos play on, looking around the living room. No decorations to speak of, seasonal or otherwise. Jenna would've hated it. She always brought along something of her own to brighten up a place, even if it was just a hotel room—there always had to be something.

But all that remains of his life with Jenna and Cody sits upstairs in that box in the attic, and he has no desire to get further involved with _those_ old ghosts.

So he stays on his couch with his alcohol and memories, content to be uncomfortably numb.

* * *

Marissa thanks Janet for the ride and goes back into her house, collapsing on her bed without bothering to undress. She is coming down from the minor buzz, but she is on another one entirely. Her mind is consumed with thoughts of Ryan and all she's learned about his life now.

He lives alone. He lives alone, but he'd been attending a support group for the bereaved. He wasn't close enough to his biological family that she knew of for it to warrant support-group levels if he'd lost any of them, and the Cohens were all still alive and well, as far as she knew. So it had to be a significant other that he'd lost, didn't it?

But _how_ significant? How long ago? And another question lingers on her mind—speaking of significance, how significant is she to him? What does he remember her as—the girl he had a spark with, a connection, or the mess he'd pulled out of an alley in Tijuana, nearly dead?

She'd made the offer to connect with him, and he hadn't rebuffed her. That was something. But there were still so many things they hadn't said to each other, so many things she isn't sure they can avoid talking about.

Like Isobel. She knows she will have to tell him about Isobel eventually, but the thought of doing that anytime soon makes her squeeze her eyes shut and let out a sigh.

It is early yet, but she can feel herself drifting into sleep, lulled into it by thoughts of Ryan and life back in Newport. _Whoever she wants him to be._

She thinks she might have an idea about that one.


	3. Roll Over Me

III.

Roll Over Me

 _Tuesday and Wednesday, December 1st and 2nd_

Tuesday morning passes for Ryan as it has most days—uneventfully. These days, he lives off the staples most people would believe only bachelors would, not men who had once been married. Ryan, though, has lived his life mastering the art of the microwave. His childhood in Chino had meant heating up whatever was around or going hungry. He is fairly certain that the last time he had an actual cooked meal was the months he stayed with Sandy and Kirsten after the accident. Since then, life has been a veritable parade of macaroni and cheese, pizza, or takeout.

The kitchen is another thing Jenna would have clucked at. His wife had tried valiantly throughout their marriage to learn to cook, and she'd been getting halfway decent at it. There had always been some kind of food either on the stove, in the oven, or in the fridge or freezer. The cabinets and pantry had been filled with Cody's baby food. Their kitchen had been one of the most well-stocked Ryan had ever seen in his life.

Now, his is bare and there is not much hope of anything filling it any time soon. Mrs. Longenfeld sometimes comes by with food—the Christmas cookies from the day before are an example—but she does not do it often; he knows she is busy and wouldn't want her spending too much time trying to feed him, anyway.

There's a knock at his door sometime around noon, and he gets up to answer it, expecting Mrs. Longenfeld or a few intrepid Girl Scouts. Instead, he finds Sandy.

"Sandy," he says, surprised, and just barely confused. "I thought you said you'd be out here next week."

"I did. But I figured I could come out early and surprise you; you might've cleared out to a hotel if I'd given you any more warning." Sandy quirks his eyebrows and reaches out to hug him. "It's good to see ya, kid."

Ryan returns the hug, but can't really appreciate the ambush. He shouldn't have put it past Sandy, who's arguably been trying the hardest these past two years to get him to do _something_. Sandy was the one who helped him out in the first place, the one he'd always looked to for guidance. Ryan is grown now, a good twelve years older than when Sandy had first met him in Chino, but it doesn't stop Sandy from wanting to help. He doesn't think anything could.

"Let me change," is all he says to Sandy, since he's still in a t-shirt and sweatpants, and he goes upstairs to his bedroom. He prefers to sleep on the couch, so the bedsheets are unruffled, made with the precision of a military man. He tried, the first few nights after he moved into the house, to sleep in the bed, but he'd found that even a change of living situation couldn't get rid of the feeling that Jenna was missing.

He pulls on a better t-shirt and finds a reasonably clean pair of jeans. He combs his hair some, but it doesn't make much of a difference. He needs a shave; he hasn't really been keeping that up recently. Jenna always hated stubble, and he'd always made the effort to be trim for her, but there's no need for that anymore. A thought briefly crosses his mind about Marissa, and he reminds himself to at least make the effort to look better the next time he sees her. For some reason, he doesn't want her to think things are really that bad, even when they are.

When he goes back downstairs, he finds Sandy in the kitchen. He isn't looking around, but he's leaning against the counter, and he straightens as Ryan walks in. "You been eating at all lately? The place looks pretty bare."

"Yeah, I haven't had much time for shopping lately… and my neighbor's been stopping by with food. I'm pretty sure she won't stop until she's given me every recipe in her book."

"Kid, I'm a lawyer. You can't get away with not answering the question," Sandy says, with a small laugh and a pointed look. "I came all the way out here; the least you can do is let me take you to lunch."

As Sandy pointed out, he's a lawyer—it's next to useless to argue with him, or so Ryan has learned over the years. This is also something he's noticed has rubbed off on Kirsten; they brooked no refusal when they'd told him to stay with them after Jenna and Cody's funerals. So he agrees, and Sandy leads him out to his rental car.

Sandy mentions a steakhouse recommended to him by the same friend who'd asked him to lecture, and Ryan agrees, since he'd have no preferences himself anyway, given that eating out has never been his thing since he'd moved here. No point in going out to eat when you're going to eat alone. Drinking alone, on the other hand, that's just fine with him.

"Noticed your car's gone," Sandy says. "Any reason?"

"I had a drink after a meeting last night. Didn't want to drive, so I left it at the community center; I haven't had a chance to walk back over yet to get it."

"How's your shoulder been lately?" Sandy asks, glancing over as he drives and then turning his eyes back to the road when he notices Ryan stiffen slightly.

"Some days are better than others. The humidity makes it worse."

"Still taking the painkillers?"

"No. Hasn't been that bad for a while." Or if it has been, the alcohol has worked just fine to kill the pain, and he just hasn't thought of it.

Silence lingers for a moment before Sandy asks something else. "You mentioned your neighbor coming by every few days. Anyone else you talk to?"

He wonders if he should say something. Word could get back to Julie, and who knows, she could still have it in for him. But then he realizes that he doesn't really care if Julie objects. They're older now; what can she do to them? It's not like she can send Marissa off again.

"Actually, I ran into someone yesterday. Marissa Cooper."

Genuine surprise crosses Sandy's face, and that's not an easy thing to do: being a lawyer, he's seen it all. "Really, now? There's a name none of us have heard in a while."

"Tell me about it. Here, of all places."

"Guess you can't outrun the past." Sandy says it before realizing he's probably speaking to the right person for that one. Isn't that what Ryan's done?

They keep quiet until they reach the steakhouse and get out of the car, until they're seated and given menus by the waiter.

"Speaking of the past," Sandy says after they've given the menus enough contemplation, "Kirsten heard from the McKeevers. They're thinking of coming by for Christmas dinner." He pauses before adding, "If you're okay with that, that is."

Ryan senses the unspoken sentence: _if you even come at all._ He doesn't want to hurt Kirsten and Seth by not coming—it's Kirsten's dinner and Seth's holiday. And it's more than obvious that Sandy's trying his damnedest right now; the ambush and the plane ticket he mentioned in the answering machine have made that clear. He knows that they want him to come back. They'd never go so far as to _expect_ it, as to tell him what to do, but he knows that after two years of evading, a year and a half of holing up in New York, he has to do something.

He hasn't, though, seen the McKeevers since the funeral. They'd tried seeing him in the hospital, but Kirsten had been the one to eventually tell them that while their kindness was appreciated, all it would do would upset Ryan. Ryan hadn't corrected her. He'd avoided them at the funeral, had turned and driven away if he'd seen them at the cemetery the few times he'd gone to see the graves. He knew it was rude, knew they probably thought him an awful son-in-law, but it had been overwhelming enough to deal with day-to-day life afterwards, and now he was expected to deal with in-laws grieving even harder than he was?

"It's good that Kirsten still hears from them," is how he responds, deflecting the sort-of question posed to him by Sandy. He's sure Sandy notices, but this is one that will be let go, for now.

"Claire usually calls her asking about you. Toby's stopped by my office a couple times. They're worried, kid. Haven't heard from you in so long."

"Haven't found the time to call," Ryan says, a little awkwardly—when did he become Seth?—and knowing that's a lame-ass excuse for two years of no contact. What else is he really doing besides sitting around out here? With his business on hold, there's not much for him _to_ do besides looking at those videos and going to the group.

He supposes that can change, though. There's Marissa to think of now, although he doesn't quite know what to think of her _as_. The thought of something romantic is still somewhat foreign. It's been two years, but if he can't even bring himself to sleep in a bed because it reminds him of Jenna, what would he be like in a relationship? Next to useless, probably. Maybe that will change; maybe not.

Being friends can't hurt, for now. He already made a move towards that when he didn't refuse her number and the offer of company. It can't hurt, and he resolves to try it. Being a recluse and a misanthrope won't get him anywhere.

* * *

The rest of the lunch passes fairly well. He finds that it's easier to talk to Sandy now, in person, than it has been on the phone. Once the subject of the McKeevers is dropped, it's easier to talk, period. Out of everyone, it's the easiest to talk to Sandy. He's wise enough to make his concern more subtle than Kirsten's—Ryan's difficulty in talking to her stems from not wanting to upset her any further. He also seems more at ease with Ryan than Seth, who, while he can be serious and has been, sometimes finds it difficult to be around _this_ Ryan, more somber than ever and unable to joke or really respond to his adoptive brother's attempts to cheer him.

That night, for the first time, he doesn't feel the urge to watch the videos. Some nights he doesn't, but the urge is still there. Most nights, he does watch them. But the lunch with Sandy, and his realization about wanting to have _something_ with Marissa, have gotten him to the point where he's able to recognize that part of what's holding him back could be not letting Jenna and Cody go. Maybe it won't happen right away—hell, it's a near-guarantee that it won't—but moving towards it would be a start.

After the lunch, Sandy had dropped him off at the community center to get his car, and had told him that he'd be around for the rest of the week, that he'd stop by a few more times. Ryan had driven home, heated up the leftovers for dinner. For the first time in a while, he'd sketched, a vague idea for a construction project taking shape in his mind. Still not ready to immerse himself fully in it, to get back into his work, he'd put it away, but it had been a small start.

Sitting on the couch the next night, Wednesday, he can see the various Christmas decorations on other houses reflected in his window. The colored lights, the inflatable Santas, the lit-up reindeer—all of them are present. He has no doubt that were someone to put them all together, they would amount to the contents of a modest Christmas store. Mrs. Longenfeld alone could open one of her own, if she were so inclined. For a second, his eyes drift towards the door in the next floor's ceiling, the one that leads to the attic. He thinks of the decorations sitting there in the box labeled _Christmas_ , thinks of getting them down… and then thinks of Cody's hands reaching for that red Christmas ball.

For a second, he closes his eyes, steadies himself. No. He can't do it just yet. But there is something he can do.

He picks up the phone and dials.

* * *

Wednesday nights are slow. She waitresses at a diner down the road, sometimes taking the morning shift, sometimes taking the night. Lately, she's been taking any hours they'll give her; work is as good as anything to take her mind off it.

Wednesday, though, was always the night she stayed in with Isobel, usually with a bad movie on whatever channel they could find, usually with a pint of ice cream. It had just been their ritual, and the thing Marissa had found worked the most to give her some stability. That had really been what Isobel needed, what Will had asked Marissa to try and give her, and thus she'd never had hours on Wednesdays.

Without Isobel, though, Marissa finds that Wednesday nights are suffocating. She thinks of cleaning out the bathroom, of at least moving Isobel's things or even throwing them away, since they won't be needed anymore. But no, she's found that she likes them there. It's a reminder, a reminder she knows is probably unhealthy, but one that she wants to keep around.

Cleaning out the bathroom is the only thing she's been able to think of for the night, and with that option gone, she finds herself unable to think of anything else. She's fairly tired, since she hasn't been sleeping much lately, and she's thinking of heading in early—very early, given that it's barely 9—when her cell phone rings.

It used to be that as a socially-conscious teen in Newport, her phone would always be ringing, and she'd usually pick it up without a second thought. Now, though, she screens, always checking the caller ID. Her dad, she picks up for, but he's usually the only one who cares to call these last few years. Kaitlin, sometimes. She hasn't heard from Summer in forever—no doubt because of her mother's efforts, like it had been for Ryan—and isn't even sure if the number she has for her friend is still in use, although she's been too afraid to pick up the phone and actually call her, anyway. She's mainly interested in making sure she doesn't pick up when her mother calls.

Surprised, she finds that the person calling her is Ryan. She'd figured that he'd take her up on her offer eventually, but she hadn't expected the call so soon—he'd just seemed so closed off. But she quickly answers, trying to dampen the eagerness in her tone, not wanting to scare him off. "Ryan?"

"Marissa. Hey. I was… wondering if that offer was still good. I've got some takeout menus here and a marathon of old horror movies."

"Seth-approved, I'm sure," Marissa says, with a little laugh, though it's still not easy for her to think of the people she left behind in Newport. "That sounds nice. I'll be over in about a half hour, okay?"

"Okay. I'll see you then."

She hangs up and then darts into her bedroom, changing out of the sweats she wears around the house and into a comfortable sweater and jeans. Despite her attraction to him, she doesn't want to pursue him romantically just yet. Her realization about who he must have lost has put her off that trail; she'll only make a move if he's ready for it. No, she's not trying to come on to him, but she wants to at least look presentable.

Ryan was attempting to make the same effort. After ordering the food—Chinese, which makes him think of numerous occasions where Kirsten's ordering had been overtaken by strings of requests from him, Seth, and Sandy—he goes into the bathroom, trying to shave without being too quick and slashing himself like some overeager thirteen-year-old. With no father around, and A.J. being as uninterested as it was possible to be in his girlfriend's sons' welfare, Ryan had had to learn to shave, years back, from Trey. Trey hadn't been so great at it himself at first, either, and Ryan had cut himself more times than he could count. He'd gotten better over the years, thankfully, but he tries to go slowly in order to avoid that ineptness.

The doorbell rings just as he gets on a shirt and jeans, and he opens it to find the delivery man. He pays for the food and takes it into the living room, setting it down on the coffee table and starting to remove the cartons from the bag as he hears a knock.

He opens the door and gives Marissa a smile—a small one, but probably the most he's managed in ages. "Just in time for the disembowlment."

"I hope you mean the movie; I don't think I could eat the food otherwise." Marissa returns his smile and follows him into the living room, carefully shutting the door behind her. "Nice place," she adds. It's fairly big, if bare; she'd noticed the lack of Christmas decorations outside, and sees that the inside isn't much of an improvement. No family photographs or anything.

"Thanks; I like it. Make yourself at home; I'll get some drinks… water all right?"

"Yeah, that's fine." She sits on the couch, noting from the extra pillow or two and the throw over the back that it seems to be slept on fairly often.

He returns with two glasses of water and plates; she puts some lo mein on hers and watches him select a dumpling. Taking a bite of the food, she admits, "I was honestly a little surprised you called. I was glad you didn't refuse the offer, don't get me wrong. Just didn't know how often I'd be hearing from you."

"I honestly didn't think I'd be calling." He figures that if she's being honest, he can be, too. "But, ah… Sandy came by yesterday; he's out here for the week. He's been trying for a while to get me to do something. Figured something like this could be a good start."

"Seems like it," she agrees, taking a bite of the lo mein and swallowing before adding, "and I'm glad you picked me to start with."

He hesitates for a minute, wondering how to respond. He's not made of stone—it's been two years since he's been with a woman, and he can't deny that the attraction he used to feel for Marissa is beginning to stir. Marissa's not coming on to him; that much he knows. She's grieving, too, though neither of them have asked who for. She's not making that move just yet, and neither is he.

But any attraction aside, any lingering doubts about telling her the truth aside, he's able to realize that he's glad, too. A friend is what he needs. He's about to keep it to himself, to be the old Ryan and even the Ryan of the past two years, but he reminds himself of the effort he's making. And he smiles, even more genuinely than before, and says, "Yeah. So am I."


	4. That's Me Trying

IV.

That's Me Trying

 _Monday, December 7th_

The week passes surprisingly quickly now that he has someone to really share it with. He hasn't realized how nice it is to have someone who gets it. The isolation, the visits from neighbors, the constant phone calls.

Even if Marissa can commiserate with him on such things as those, she's almost as determined as Sandy and Mrs. Longenfeld to get out and do other things. He's surprised she's as gung ho as she is, considering her loss seems to be, from what he's gathered, more recent than his, but she seems to be slipping back slightly into the party-planning personality he'd seen a bit of in Newport.

"I can't believe you don't even have a tree," she says as she wanders the house before their support group that Monday evening. He'd offered to drive her this time, to give Janet a break, and because he's found that he likes having her around to talk to. She came over one other night after the movie marathon, and they'd talked on the phone for most of the other nights.

He comes down the stairs pulling on his jacket, stopping for a second as it causes a dull pang in his bad shoulder. It's starting to snow again, and the damp in the air sometimes makes it act up. He rolls it for a second after getting his arm in the sleeve, shaking off the pain almost imperceptibly and answering Marissa as he does. "I don't know, just never occurred to me to get one."

"Well, we'll have to change that. At the very least, your neighbors will stop staring." She gives him a smile and hands him the scarf he keeps hanging on a peg—a gift from Kirsten, sent out shortly after he'd moved to New York. "I used to hate Christmas. Started liking it once I came up here. Something about the snow and the lights… I don't know, it's pretty."

"Never really liked it, myself," Ryan admits as they go out to the car and get in. "Didn't really have any good ones in Chino. There were some good times with the Cohens, though. Seth always insisted on Chrismukkah."

"I remember hearing about it in elementary school," Marissa laughs. "I think everyone in Newport does. He was a bit terrifying when it came to holiday cheer, actually."

"Tell me about it."

They get to the community center a little later than they usually would, given that the snow beginning to fall means ice on the roads. Not much, but enough to make him slow down. He was never an incautious driver, but now he pays far more attention than he used to.

He parks and they get out, Ryan holding Marissa's arm as a courtesy so she won't slip on the iced over pavement. "How did you get used to this?" he asks, with a laugh. "Felt like I was in the Arctic the first few times it snowed when I came up here."

"Trust me, same here. My neighbor still reminds me of when it got to be spring and at least a bit warmer, and my first words to her were apparently, _You mean it's not ALWAYS like that? Finally!_ "

They walk into the building and hang up their coats, and he lets go of her arm to take off his. She shakes some snow out of her hair, pulling it up into a ponytail as they walk into the room and sit beside each other in the circle.

She's come to recognize that, at least for some people, the group does seem to be worth it. Talking seems to help them, and she can't help but feel that she might want to start talking to Ryan. She's not yet comfortable with telling a whole group of strangers, but she feels more comfortable with Ryan than she's felt with anyone in the last six months, even Janet. She's only been to three sessions of the group, but she's noticed that some people seem to be adjusting.

There's Jack, who lost his wife to cancer; Niles and Lucy, whose son had a heart defect; Beth, whose mother died of an aneurysm. By all accounts, none of them have been coming as long as Ryan, but they seem to be coping pretty well. They manage to smile and laugh and have it look real. She's getting to that point herself, but only around Ryan, only around someone who really _gets_ it. It's taking an effort with everyone else.

Jeff comes in from the next room and takes his seat at the head of the circle. "Evening, everyone. Good weekend?"

There's a few nods and murmurs of assent. Jeff steeples his fingers and leans his elbows on his knees. "Anyone want to open the floor?"

Jude, a man not much older than her and Ryan, speaks up after a minute or two. He'd lost his girlfriend over the summer; they'd been sharing an apartment. "I never realized until she was gone how much my days revolved around her, you know? We used to get up early and have breakfast together, even if I didn't have to go to work until a few hours after she did. I'd wait up usually if she was going to be home late. There's just this routine I got into without realizing it, you know? It's tough to get out of it now that she's gone."

Marissa finds herself nodding in agreement, thinking of the empty Wednesdays, when she wants to do something and yet finds that she can't. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees that Ryan notices her expression. He reaches over and rests his hand on her leg, gently, almost tentatively. She turns her head for a second and meets his eyes, quirking her lips upward the tiniest bit and resting her hand on his for a second or two, a thanks. He nods slightly, as if to say, _you're welcome_.

She hasn't spoken yet, has followed Ryan's lead. But this time, she does, saying after a second, "I've been having that problem, too. It's been weird, realizing how much I looked forward to that one day. And now that she's not here, I just found myself needing something to _do_ with it, you know? I just couldn't sit around anymore." She says all of this in a slight rush, breathing in slowly and then adding, "I think I've figured out a solution, though."

They'd talked, that Wednesday night, about the situation. They'd agreed that they both wanted to see more of each other, and the phone calls and such had been the start of that. She'd hesitantly suggested maybe making it a standing thing—Wednesday nights at one of their places. She'd wondered if it was too much of a suggestion, if he'd back away from the implications.

But no, he'd seemed to be okay with it, had agreed to the suggestion without much hesitation. And from all the little touches, the smiles, the laughter… she can't deny that she's beginning to wonder just how far things can go.

Ryan sits there for a second after her admission, making sure she's not looking over at him before he dares to glance at her, slightly fascinated by the blush that had started to color her cheeks after she'd mentioned the solution. There's no question that she means him; they'd established that last Wednesday. He'd agreed to her suggestion without questions, knowing he needs to keep making his effort. Maybe he's not quite ready to go back to the OC yet, not quite ready to face the McKeevers, but he can work at rebuilding a friendship—a romance?—that never had enough of a chance to get off the ground.

That blush makes him wonder. He's definitely attracted to her. He can allow himself to admit that, finally, not just entertain the thought in the back of his mind. And he's gotten inklings that she's attracted to him, but none so clear as the blush, as the way she'd responded to his hand on her leg. The indications are all there—she definitely feels the same attraction he does.

There's still the matter of telling her about Jenna and Cody, however. He still finds himself balking on that one, wondering which of them will make the first move. He wonders what Sandy will say—he's still staying over at that hotel, and Ryan's going to have to see him at least once more and confront the issue of that plane ticket. That aside, Sandy's advice would probably be really helpful right about now.

He realizes his hand is still resting on Marissa's leg, that she's made no effort to remove it. He realizes he can't focus on Jeff and the other group members, for the first time since he's started coming here. He normally listens, internalizes the information, even sometimes trying to use the strategies others suggest to deal with things, but no, tonight he finds himself slightly overwhelmed by the notion that he might be falling—again—for Marissa Cooper.

They're older now, hopefully a little wiser. There can't be as much drama as there was when they were teenagers. There's no who's-sleeping-with-who, no divorces or financial dramas or any of that. This town is small, snowy, quiet, nothing like Newport. It could be the perfect place to really begin working things out, couldn't it?

The session passes more quickly than usual when his mind isn't on it, and as Marissa gets up and goes to get her coat, Jeff comes up to him and detains him for a word. "Noticed you two seem to be getting along. Making any progress?"

"Yeah," Ryan says, his voice surprisingly steady considering how much information he's trying to straighten out in his head right now. "I think so."

He follows Marissa out after getting his own coat, watching as she descends the stairs just ahead of him. As she reaches the bottom, however, her right foot hits a small patch of ice and she slips, managing to grab the railing as she falls, but still landing hard on her ankle.

She sucks in a pained breath as Ryan rushes as carefully as he can down the stairs, crouching by her side. "You all right?"

"Sort of," she winces, starting to pull herself up but then hesitating, lowering herself back down very carefully. "I think it might be sprained."

"Looks like it," he agrees, remembering briefly when it happened to a friend of his at Berkeley. "Here." He helps her up, putting his arm around her shoulders and letting her lean into him. "I have some first aid things back at the house; you should stay off your feet for a few hours."

She can't protest, considering, and agrees, walking with his help to the car. Ryan instructs her to prop her leg against the dashboard, and since that seems to ease the pain just a little bit, she keeps it there and tries not to think of how awkward this must look.

He gets them to the house fairly quickly—it looks like deicing was done on the roads, if not the sidewalks—and once they're inside, he takes a look at the living room and then up the stairs. "Bed's probably more comfortable; it's bigger… might have to carry you up, though."

At this point, she's past protesting. It doesn't hurt all that badly, but the thought of going up the stairs in what would probably amount to undignified hopping is enough to make her swallow her pride and agree. And for the third time in her life but the first one she can remember, one arm is behind her shoulders and the other is under her knees, carrying her up the stairs and into the bedroom, laying her down and propping her ankle on a pillow, promising to be back in a second with the ice and a bandage.

And she lies there for a second, closing her eyes and trying to breathe and trying to ignore the heat rushing through every inch of her body as she replays the last thirty seconds in her head, thirty glorious seconds of his strong arms on her body. The pain is nearly gone now, endorphins seemingly replacing it with a pleasant if tingling numbness as she tries to memorize every sensation, everything that lingers in her mind about the first time she was truly conscious of Ryan Atwood's touch.

She makes the decision just about then and there. If she can tell anyone, she can tell him. She _should_ him. The point of the support group is to help them take steps, and she can take the first one, take it with him.

She opens her eyes again as she hears him coming up the stairs, carrying an ice pack and a bandage in his hands. He sits down on the bed cross-legged and begins to work off her shoe and sock for her, apologizing for the pain. When he takes her foot in his hands and begins wrapping, starting at her toes, she inhales and then lets it out, telling herself to go for it. "Ryan?"

"I'm not hurting you, am I?"

"No, it's not that. It's… there's… I just want to tell you something. About why I go to the group. If you're okay with hearing it. You don't have to say anything about yours; I just… wanted to say something. You're the only one I know who really understands, and…"

He nods, surprised, but honestly wanting to know, wondering where this will take them. "I'd like to hear it," he says, sincerely, holding her gaze for a minute before shifting his gaze back to her foot, not wanting to keep looking if it makes her uncomfortable.

She closes her eyes, taking a bit of the comforter in her fist and kneading it as she begins to talk, focusing on the feeling of his hands ably wrapping the bandage down her foot and around her ankle. "My dad has a brother. Younger. His name's Will. He lives out in Florida, so we never saw him that often. He'd come out for holidays every once in a while, but I never really saw him that much after the recovery center and then the new school… I just didn't see much of my family, period.

"Anyway, I moved out here five years ago and I never really gave him a second thought until he called me up last year. He got married to my aunt Julia when I was ten, and when I was twelve they had my cousin. Isobel. With the age difference, and not really seeing them too much, I didn't know her very well. But he called me and asked me if I'd be willing to have her stay with me, go to a new school around here.

"She was having a lot of problems. She had this friend, Mickey, they'd grown up together and he'd always been around for her, but he moved away, and she started hanging around with a rough crowd, cutting class, getting drunk. Her doctor put her on antidepressants. They wanted to know if I could just… be someone who could relate to her, maybe get her back on track. I didn't really know if I could do it, but my dad really wanted me, and I wanted to get to know her better. So I agreed."

Ryan knows where this is going—there's only one direction it can go—but he still knows she's making the effort to tell him, to not hold it back, and to him, that's pretty admirable. He thinks of telling her tonight, but decides to hold off. Maybe it's better not to distract her with his emotions while she's still trying to work through hers, and he wants to talk with Sandy first, to get some advice before really moving this forward.

Having finished wrapping her ankle, he puts her foot back onto the ice pack and pillow, before lying down next to her, watching her as she speaks, her eyes still closed.

"Sixteen. I had the same kinds of issues when I was her age; I mean… you remember that, at least. They thought I was the right person to come to; I can't say I blame them. They brought her out here last September, right before the school year started.

"She wasn't sure of me at first. We'd only met a few times, and she looked at me like I was this babysitter. Kept trying to give me the slip, but I'd always find her out. Will told me to give her some kind of routine, so I did. Wednesday nights, we'd sit around with ice cream and a movie. Sometimes she'd talk to me, sometimes she wouldn't, but I think she liked it. She seemed like she was doing better, anyway.

"She started making friends here. More than I would've thought. They all seemed like they were good for her, too. No drugs, no drinking. She really seemed like she was _happy_. But she kept telling me every once in a while that she still felt like the odd one out, like she didn't really fit in. There were a couple parties where she didn't get invited, some of the girls she was hanging out with got boyfriends and became too busy for her, and she started slipping again. I tried to tell her it didn't matter, but she wasn't hearing it. She stopped talking to a lot of her friends, and then she just stopped talking to me."

She takes a shaky breath, willing herself not to cry. She's thought, over the past few months, that she's cried all the tears she could, but it turns out that maybe she hasn't. She breathes in again and then out, shutting her eyes tighter against the tears that were threatening to come. "It was June, just about the end of the school year. I had to work one night. I usually didn't take night shifts; I liked to be around for her after school, but one of the other waitresses called in sick and there was no one but me. I was gone for maybe six hours. Got back around two in the morning, checked her bedroom to make sure she was asleep. And I don't… I don't know where she'd gotten it, because I didn't keep any in the house, but she had a bottle of vodka with her, and when I checked her medication in the bathroom nearly all of it was gone. She'd… they told me she must've overdosed an hour or two after I left."

He reaches over, putting a hand on her shoulder, sensing her trying to collect herself. "There wasn't much else you could have done… I'm sure you tried as hard as you could to be there for her."

"Not hard enough, apparently." She opens her eyes and hopes they don't seem too wet. "Will and Julia haven't spoken to me since I called. They blame me for it, I know that much from Julia screaming at me the night it happened… they took her body back to Florida. I didn't go to the funeral; they didn't want me there… eventually, Janet came to me and told me about the support group," she says, lamely switching topics. "And now I'm glad she did."

They lay there in silence, facing each other, his hand still on her shoulder until he skims it down along her arm and grabs her hand, holding it. Trying to total the number of times that he's touched her tonight is making her dizzy, making her think things she probably shouldn't be thinking.

"I'm glad you told me," he says, before pausing and adding, "I'm glad you trusted me enough to tell me."

"Yeah," she whispers, her voice raw from talking and held-in tears, her ankle throbbing slightly from the lingering pain. Even with all that, his hand in hers is making all the pain, physical and emotional, worth it.

He gives her hand a squeeze before gently letting it go, and she resists the urge to grab it again, to take hold of that safety net she's becoming so used to. His next words are ones she should expect, given the type of person he is, but she's still surprised by them. "Stay the night. Makes more sense; you're already settled here, and it'll give your ankle a break. I can sleep on the couch."

"I'll stay. As long as… as long as you stay here with me," she tries, tentatively. Testing the waters. It seems to be the essence of their relationship now. She doesn't feel like sleeping alone, not after she finally told someone the whole story, not after she's realized that she truly hates being alone.

And he holds her gaze for a long minute or two, before nodding and saying quietly, "Okay."


	5. Secrets

V.

Secrets

 _Tuesday through Thursday, December 8th through 10th_

The first thing he's aware of upon getting up is that he isn't alone. For once, there's warmth, a presence on the other side of the bed that there hasn't been in two years. His memory is still a fog and for a second he thinks that it's Jenna there.

As he comes closer to full consciousness, he realizes that one of his arms has wrapped around whoever's there, keeping her close. That's what makes him wake up fully, as he realizes that he's lying with Marissa, his body pressed up against hers, one arm wrapped around her. He flashes briefly back to Tijuana, as much as he tries to block that trip out of his mind, tries to block out the feeling of holding her deathly cold body in his arms as he carried her out of that alley. He remembers lying in that bed with her, as close as he ever got to her, unable to have her.

With her this close, it's impossible to avoid taking in her scent, the sweet smell of her hair, the feeling of her skin against his hands. He finds that he has to fight very, very hard to resist the urge to touch her elsewhere, to run his hands along her body, to explore the way they never had twelve years ago.

He feels her breathe in and shift her weight, and he knows from the change in her breathing that she's awake. She laughs a little as she notices their position, as he moves his arm from over her body and rests it back by his side, though he still remains spooned against her. "Familiar territory," she murmurs, rolling onto her other side so that she's facing him, smiling.

"Yeah," he says, returning her smile, though he hopes she can't tell how much her proximity is getting to him. "Again, sorry…"

"Not a problem," she says softly, finally sitting up and reaching out to rest her fingers lightly on her ankle.

"Any better?"

"Little bit. Don't think I can walk on it just yet, but it doesn't hurt as much."

"That's good. Don't overdo it. If you want, there's an extra toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. You can wash up; I can get us some breakfast or something…"

"That'd be nice, actually," she says, after a few seconds. "I'd like that. It might take a while to shower with this, though…" She motions to the ankle.

"That's fine; take your time."

He points her to the bathroom and gets out of bed himself. Once she's in the bathroom, he changes into another pair of jeans and a clean t-shirt, trying to ignore the still-present ache in his shoulder. He considers starting up the painkillers again, but it makes him think too much of the immediate aftermath, of the numb days in the Cohens' pool house. He can't go back to that again.

It takes him all of thirty seconds after dressing to realize that he's not exactly well-stocked with breakfast food. One of them has ordered takeout all the times they've gotten together, and for some reason he doesn't want Marissa to know that he's doing badly enough to not really care whether or not he eats.

He checks the clock; there's not enough time to go out and come back to get the food himself. He grabs his phone, dialing Sandy's number. Sandy picks up on the second ring.

"Hey, kid. Morning."

"Morning. Listen, could you do me a favor?"

And in less than fifteen minutes, Sandy's over his place with a bag of bagels from the store across the street from the hotel, following Ryan from the front hall to the kitchen. "Thanks for this," Ryan says over his shoulder as he gets orange juice from the fridge, as Sandy sets the bag on the counter and unpacks the bagels and cream cheese.

"No problem." Sandy looks up at the ceiling briefly, listening to see if the water's still running, and looks back to Ryan. "I'm in town until Thursday. If you need anything, come by tonight or tomorrow."

Ryan nods. "I can see you to the airport on Thursday?" he offers.

"Speaking of the airport—"

He knows Sandy's about to mention the plane ticket, but Marissa must want to pay him back for all the times he saved her, because she walks in at just that moment—or, rather, hops in, trying not to put weight on her ankle. Her hair is wet around her shoulders, a towel draped over them, and seeing it makes Ryan flash back to that night by the pool.

" _You've got goosebumps."_

" _I know! Towel."_

" _Want a sweatshirt?"_

" _Can I borrow one of your tank tops so I can look as cool as you?"_

"Morning," she says, surprised, to Sandy, smiling nicely at the man she'd lived next door to in her childhood. "Ryan mentioned you were out here; I didn't know if I'd get a chance to see you."

"Figured I'd stop by," he says, knowing Ryan doesn't want him to mention needing him to bring the bagels. He begins to cut one of them open, opening the cream cheese container once he has the bagel sliced. "Marissa, I'm going to show you how to _schmear_ ," he announces, glancing up at Ryan, who gives him a grateful look. No questions about the past, about the years since he'd seen her last—he can count on Sandy not to pry. He's learned that much, at least, from dealing with Ryan these past few years.

They sit around for an hour or so with bagels and conversation, and Ryan finds that the normalcy of it all puts him at ease again, calming his extraordinarily conflicted feelings about the Marissa situation. He needs that talk with Sandy; he's decided that much.

Marissa trusted him enough to tell him her story, and he knows he can trust her. It's getting himself to take that leap that's the tough part.

Marissa checks her watch and finishes the last of the bagel, looking to Ryan. "I have to get to work in a few hours… I should be getting home. I can call Janet for a ride if you don't—"

"I can drive you; it's fine." He grabs his keys from the counter. "You sure you should be working, with your ankle hurt?"

She waves a hand. "I'll give it a shot. My boss will understand, if not." She gives Sandy a hug good-bye and then goes into the hall closet to get her coat. Ryan looks at Sandy, silently asking him to stick around until he gets back, and Sandy gives him a nod of acknowledgement. That done, Ryan heads out after Marissa, helping her into the car.

They drive in silence for the most part, until they're about halfway to her house, when Marissa breaks the silence. "Ryan, if I freaked you out last night… said too much…?"

He stares at the road for a second before he looks over at her briefly, his hands tightening a little on the steering wheel as he does so. "No. Like I said last night… I'm just glad you trusted me."

He hopes she has no idea that his silence this morning has been for an entirely different reason. He needs to work this out on his own before making any type of move towards a relationship, and if he can't bring himself to do it, he doesn't want her to give her false hope. So he offers her a hint of a smile to back up his words, and she seems to accept that, falling silent again. She kisses his cheek and says a soft thanks as they reach her house, and he makes sure she gets into the house before he heads back to his place.

Sandy has moved to the living room, watching _Judge Judy_ and laughing at it, as usual. The nostalgia hits Ryan and for a second he feels grateful that this time that nostalgic feeling isn't about Jenna and Cody. He couldn't handle that today.

He joins Sandy on the couch, and his silence, a different kind than normal, is noticed by Sandy, who turns off the TV. It takes him a few minutes to make the words come out the way he wants them to.

"I might have feelings for Marissa."

Sandy nods, both in acknowledgment and for him to continue, and Ryan takes a breath before adding, "It could become something. She feels the same way. But I guess I'm not sure if… if I want it to. If I'm ready for that."

It takes Sandy a bit to mull this over before he speaks. He holds up a hand as he begins, "I can't tell you what to do. No one can; no one should. What I can tell you is… it's been two years, Ryan. I know you've been punishing yourself—torturing yourself, really."

Ryan starts to say something, but stops, thinks of the isolation, thinks of the alcohol, thinks of the videos. It's true.

"It's been two years. And you know she wouldn't want this for you." Sandy looks him in the eye at that one. "Just like the rest of us don't. It's up to you, kid. But in the end, she'd want you to have whatever would make you happy."

He thinks this over, thinks of Jenna, thinks of the nights in their college days, their honeymoon, the pregnancy and after, when they'd laid awake talking about the what-ifs, the could-bes. They'd talked about who would get Cody if something were to happen to them. What they hadn't talked about was what would happen if one of them had survived the other. They'd been young; it wasn't a thought that normally occurred to a couple not long married, not even long out of college. It hadn't hit him that they'd never talked about it until he'd been lying in a hospital bed holding the wedding and engagement rings they'd given him from Jenna's personal effects, staring at them and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Sandy gives him quiet for a while as he thinks this over, sits there with him until he finally nods and looks back to him, a signal of being ready. Sandy reaches into the inside pocket of his suit and pulls out the envelope, handing it to Ryan.

"The flight's Christmas Eve morning. One of us can get you at the airport. Just let us know if you're coming. You don't have to, but we'd all like it if you did… we can talk to the McKeevers, if that's a problem…"

He makes the promise to think it over. To try.

He'd promised himself he'd try.

And with that in mind, he gets in the car the next night and drives.

* * *

She hobbles to the door, cursing every second that patch of ice on the sidewalk. It doesn't hurt that much now that it's been two days, but it's a bitch to have to hop everywhere, not to mention really annoying. She'd finally called in sick to work yesterday, and her boss had told her to give it a week or so before coming back in.

She'd debated calling Ryan the night before, but he'd seemed a little off in the car, despite the reassurance and the smile. She'd reached for the phone about a hundred times, but pulled her hand back each and every one. _Let him be._

So it's with a fair amount of surprise that she opens the door and finds him on the other side, slightly covered in the fluffy snow that's now dusting the ground outside. "Ryan," she says, wondering what he's doing out here this late. It's nearly nine, so it's not too bad, but it's still snowing—light as it is, there's always the prospect of it possibly getting worse, especially around here. "What are you—?"

He takes a breath and steels himself, brushing the snow from his coat before finally saying, "I... wanted to talk. Can I…?"

He motions to the inside of the house and she steps back, letting him in. He hangs up his coat and then follows her to the living room, where they sit on her couch. They sit there in silence for one minute, two, until he faces her and holds her gaze.

"Look, I don't… talk a lot, and I don't really trust people. The Cohens, yeah, but besides that… I trust you. And I want to make this work, but to do that… you told me your story. I want to tell you mine."

She nods almost imperceptibly, not wanting to interrupt him in case it causes him to lose his nerve. She wonders what he meant by _"this,"_ if he's hinting at a relationship, but in case he's not, she doesn't dwell on that. Instead, she watches as he breaks her gaze—more comfortable for him that way—and begins to talk.

"It was raining," is what he starts off with. "Junior year—you were gone then—there was this awful rainstorm. I don't know if it reached you. It was the worst I'd seen since then. We were driving— _I_ was driving.

"I was married," he says, and at this, she has to steel herself for what she knows is coming. She'd guessed, she'd figured out on her own the probable reason for his presence in the group, but hearing it confirmed is another thing entirely. "Jenna. I met her at Berkeley. We got married just after we graduated… had Cody a year later. He was three when it happened."

"Cody?" Marissa asks softly, thought she knows she doesn't have to, knows now how exactly this is going to end. Her voice wavers on the word, as she realizes that his loss is more painful than she could have imagined. She'd lost Isobel, but a wife and a child? _Together?_

He nods, reaching for his wallet and opening it, passing it to her. She takes it almost feeling like it'll burn her, looking at the picture he keeps in one of the plastic pockets. It's him and a redheaded woman, pretty and smiling, his arm around her. Her arms are around a little boy, about a year old from the looks of it, with blond hair like his father's and a smile like his mother's. She keeps the wallet in her hand, but her eyes remain on Ryan as he continues.

"It was raining, a few days before Christmas. Torrential downpour. It was her dad's birthday party—his actual birthday had been a few days before—and we were driving to her parents' house. It was hard to see the road, the rain was so bad. Someone in the other lane lost control for two seconds, weaved into our lane. I tried to swerve, but the road was too wet and I ended up skidding into the railing. We flipped down an embankment."

His voice is distant now, far off, and she doesn't think he's even comprehending what he's telling her anymore. She reaches out and puts her hand on his leg, just as he did for her in the support group, and that seems to bring him back somewhat. He puts his hand over hers, squeezing a little, and finally continues.

"The driver of the other car was fine; he managed to stop somewhere along the side of the road and call 911. The car was completely wrecked. Had to cut the doors off. I was out for three days. Had a concussion on top of separating my shoulder. Other than that, I was fine. I was… lucky. At least that's what they told me." He takes a breath before finally saying the words she'd known were coming. "Jenna and Cody died on impact."

" _What are we supposed to tell him?" Kirsten's voice, breaking through the fog, the throbbing pain behind his eyes. His eyes—can't open those yet. Pain. Pain behind his eyes, yes, but also in his shoulder. Duller there, though he can tell it's going to be a bitch later on. Painkillers?_

 _It takes a second for it to sink in that his whole body is aching, aching from lying still, aching from bruises he knows are probably there. Rain, he remembers rain, remembers glass, screaming, crying—_

 _That's what forces him up, makes him open his eyes only to shut them again against the blindingly white room, the white making him blind just as the heart monitor's suddenly chaotic beeping makes him deaf. In a minute, everything calms down as he feels one hand in his, another on his uninjured shoulder—Kirsten on one side, Sandy on the other, he recognizes as he finally opens his eyes again without getting the feeling that the room is spinning._

 _It's Kirsten's face that gets him to realize something is wrong, very wrong, as he recalls her words from just a minute or two before, as she strokes some sweat-dampened hair back from his face and gives his hand a tiny squeeze. Hospital. He can register that now, knows from the white and the antiseptic smell and the monitors and the bed that that's where he is. Hospital. Kirsten and Sandy. Glass, screaming, crying, and… no Jenna. No Cody._

" _Where…?" he starts to ask, but can't manage; his throat is dry, hasn't had proper water for a few days at least. Sandy gets a cup and pours him some from the pitcher on the nightstand, holding it to his lips and helping him drink. Normally, he'd resent this, not want to be treated like a child, but he can't move now, can't think, can't breathe, and still no answer until—_

 _Kirsten's hand again, softly stroking hair away from his aching head, her voice the one that tells him quietly, brokenly, that there's been an accident. "Jenna and Cody, they… oh, Ryan, I'm so… sorry, they…"_

 _And she can't get the words out and neither can he, because he's screaming, feverish, delirious, and it takes Sandy and a male orderly holding him down before a doctor grabs the hand Kirsten had held and jabs it with a needle, and his eyes close and there's nothing but darkness, the type of darkness he'll long for weeks later, when the pain he feels is of an entirely different sort, the type no painkiller can do anything for._

His breathing is slightly uneven as he sits there, probably remembering, and she squeezes his hand to bring him back. He has to shake himself off a little, trying to put himself back in the here and now, to remember that it's not that day, that it never will be that day again, God willing.

"I stayed in Newport for a few weeks afterward. A month or two, tops. After the funerals, I just… couldn't go back home. It was… suffocating, being there, knowing they wouldn't be, not anymore. The McKeevers packed up their things. Gave me a few boxes of things they thought I'd want, told me I could always look through the ones they had if I couldn't find anything. Never have. Eventually I wanted a change. Went back to the house, stayed there for ten months or so. Didn't work, so I moved out here a year ago. Haven't gone back since."

He breathes normally for the first time since starting the story, finally looks her in the eye again. "I guess what I'm trying to say is… is that I do have feelings for you. I do, and I want to try and have something with you… if you're ready. I am. Or at least, I think I am. It's been two years and I know I shouldn't… shouldn't keep doing what I have been. I'd like for us to be something, or at least for us to try…"

She silences him by gently putting her fingers against his lips, not kissing him, but the intimacy of it startles them both and she quickly withdraws her hand, offering him a slightly shaky smile. "I'd like to," she says quietly. "As long as you're sure."

He takes the wallet she hands back to him, giving a brief glance to the picture inside of it, the frozen image from a life he'd lost and once would have done anything to regain. For the first time in two years, that feeling is starting to leave him. The loneliness doesn't feel as crushing; the pain doesn't feel so overwhelming. He still misses them, knows he always will, but trying something like this doesn't feel like an insult to their memories. He reminds himself of Sandy's words—that Jenna would have wanted this for him.

"I'm sure," is what he tells her, and he actually feels like he means it.

* * *

He gets Sandy bright and early the next morning, at maybe six AM, when the flight is at nine. They drive to the airport and he walks into the lobby with Sandy, who sets down his suitcase and reaches into his jacket for his ticket and boarding pass.

"Sure you're all right out here? I can stay a few more days if you need," he offers, and Ryan takes some comfort in the familiarity of that. Same old Sandy.

"No, I'm… doing all right." For the first time, he's not lying. He's come to realize how tiring that was. "I might come out for Christmas after all."

At this, Sandy raises an eyebrow, surprised but definitely happy with the news. "With someone?" he asks, a casual inquiry, and Ryan hesitates to answer, before giving a noncommittal "maybe." It is what it is, after all. He's still not sure how he and Marissa will function in a relationship, but damned if he won't try, and he's going to give it at least a few days before he springs Chrismukkah on Marissa.

Sandy checks the time and then picks up his bag again, nodding back to the terminal. "I have to head out, kid, but you know the number if you need to call. I'll hopefully see you in a few weeks, all right?"

Ryan nods, and gives in to the quick hug from Sandy before they break apart and his adoptive father walks away, leaving Ryan staring after the man who, two nights before, had given him the advice that will hopefully determine the next however many months.

And he heads back to his car and gets inside, driving off in the direction of his house, for once not sad over the prospect of spending the day alone. He's not alone, not really.

Not anymore.

  



	6. Consider This

VI.

Consider This

 _Wednesday, December 16th through Monday, December 21st_

He's still thrown slightly by how much he'd seemingly forgotten about the way it feels to really be with someone. They haven't even done much of anything yet—no kissing, no sex, no thought yet of those three particular words—but it's the littlest things that spark his memories and make him feel like he'd be willing to do more, given enough time.

He's still getting used to the little smile she gives him when they accidentally catch each other's gaze when trying to watch the other unobserved, to the softness of her skin, to the way her hand fits in his so nicely. It's all a rush—all far more than he imagined.

He called her over to his place tonight to make sure that she wasn't sitting alone on a Wednesday. She'd mentioned, when she told him about Isobel, that Wednesdays had been their night. He knew how hard it was to be faced with a routine broken by loss, knew how he felt every time Jenna and Cody's birthdays came around. It didn't do any good to sit around and think about it; he would know.

They're sitting together on the couch, not watching television this time—just enjoying the quiet and each other, simpler than he'd imagined. Her head rests on his good shoulder, and he's wrapped his arms around her, his hands resting clasped at her hip. Her shirt has ridden up a bit, so his hands are resting on bare skin, which he occasionally traces with his fingers, still getting used to her warmth in his arms.

She tilts her head slightly to look at him, reaching one of her hands out and placing it over his. "Tell me about them," she says softly. "If you're okay with that, I mean…"

They'd talked a bit about Isobel earlier, when Marissa had mentioned a few of the good times they'd had on nights like this. It had helped her to remember, and she wondered if it would be the same for Ryan. He'd mentioned them, shown her the picture, but she didn't really _know_ anything.

He pulls her the smallest bit closer, still needing that warmth, the comfort he's barely realized he associates with her by now. He tries to think back to the memories gone somewhat hazy in his mind, the ones not sharpened by countless viewings of those videos or by endless nightmares. It's the earliest days that are the hardest to recall.

"Freshman year, I had to take this philosophy course. It was part of the requirements for a degree in architecture. Jenna was sitting in front of me. She was… different from most of the other kids in there. A lot of them were just sleeping through it to get on with the rest of their day. Jenna, she loved it. She could talk Plato and Aristotle and anyone else with our professor and he'd actually listen. It was pretty incredible.

"Anyway, right before our midterm, I was studying in the library. Jenna came tearing through the door and just sat down at my table. Completely desperate. Her bag had disappeared from her dorm and she didn't have any of her notes. She told me she needed to study with someone; I told her she really didn't have to, since she was miles ahead of everyone else, but she insisted. Of course, she aced the midterm, and I didn't do badly, either; it probably helped me more than it helped her. She asked me to dinner to make up for monopolizing my time, and after a few more dates, we started going out for real."

He plays with her hair, twirling it gently around his fingers for a second or two before wrapping his arm back around her. "By the time we graduated, we'd been going out for four years, and we figured there wasn't much point in waiting to get married. We'd gotten a place of our own; we were already at that point. The wedding wasn't anything huge, but it was enough for us. We found out she was pregnant a few months later."

He smiles faintly at the memory, and she gently nuzzles his cheek with her nose. He gives her a soft squeeze and continues softly, "It was… amazing. I mean, exhausting, yeah, and sometimes it was a bit of a stretch to make ends meet, but I wouldn't have traded a second. Cody was just… everyone always told us he was the happiest kid they'd seen. And I'm sure they say that to everyone, but he was. Always smiling, always laughing, once he learned how. He loved it whenever we decorated for Christmas."

The mention of Christmas is what makes him pause, burying his nose in her hair. She runs her fingers lightly along his arm and murmurs, "Maybe we could get you a small tree or something. At least a fake one. I still say you can't be a Grinch forever," she says softly, her tone teasing, so that he'll know she won't take offense if it's still hard for him.

He reaches out to grab one of her hands in his, pulling it to his lips and kissing it softly. She wonders for a second or two what those lips would feel like on hers, but pushes that back—she's not going to push him towards anything he's not ready for, and she has to admit that just moving slowly is _nice_. They didn't get a chance to really _know_ each other in Newport, so doing it now is comforting, makes it feel more real.

"Not forever," he agrees softly, feeling her settle more comfortably in his arms. "I'd say you're right."

* * *

Two days later, with a week left until Christmas, Marissa's hand in his is what compels him down the aisle of the department store and into the forest of artificial trees. The store is somewhat crowded, but Marissa, he has learned, is a veteran shopper and can manage crowds with the best of them.

"We're not going for any of this silver fiber optic stuff," she announces, pulling him down the aisle with the brightly colored trees and into one lined with dense green plastic ones. "If we're going all in, we're going for the real deal."

"As much as we can go 'all in' with a plastic tree, anyway." It hits him after a second how easily they slipped into referring to themselves collectively, as _we_ , as _us_. He honestly can't say that he minds.

"Naysayer. What about this one?" She paces around a tree that comes up to her shoulder—a smaller tree than usual, but it's good enough for him. He's easing back into the Christmas spirit; one of those seven-foot-tall plastic monstrosities is not the way to go. This one is small and simple—the underdog of the trees available. He'd always rooted for the underdog.

She tries to talk him into letting her pay for the tree, and he finally agrees, seeing as she's the reason why he's finally starting to celebrate again anyway. Her smile when he agrees makes it all worth it anyway. It's hard for him to look at her at times like this and remember the pain in both their pasts. Hard for him to see anything past that smile, the one that reminds him of one of the very first times he saw it, at the fashion show in Newport. Her eyes locking on his, not letting go. How the smile she'd given him that night had made him feel, despite the suit he still felt uncomfortable in, despite the endless rumors swirling about who he was, that he really _belonged_ there.

After the tree is paid for and arranged to be delivered to the house, she returns to his side, lacing her fingers in his. "Where are we off to next?"

"You sure you can handle more?" He glances down at her ankle—nearly healed, since she can walk on it and the sprain wasn't too bad, but still.

She gives him a playful glare. "I did inherit _some_ things from my mother. I could shop with both legs broken."

He holds up his hands in a surrender, laughing. "Lead the way."

* * *

It takes her a day or two to notice it. To notice that despite the time they spend together now, despite how it seemed to help them, he seems to be slipping again. That the small smile she'd seen every so often recently has seemed to disappear within the last few days. That his hands don't linger on her like she'd gotten used to so quickly already.

She wants to ask what's wrong, but she knows from the last few weeks and from their brief acquaintance in Newport that that probably won't do much. It's more than his reluctance to celebrate Christmas, though that's definitely part of it.

 _He brought the last of the boxes down from the attic and set it on the floor at her feet, rolling his shoulders a bit and flexing his fingers. He'd refused to let her carry any, since her ankle was still healing. "That's the last of them."_

 _She knelt, opening the box and looking in at the ornaments, touching one or two of them briefly and already seeing the memories they must have brought up for him. When his back was to her, she covered a silver Baby's First Christmas ornament nestled deep in the box with the tissue paper it was already wrapped in, making sure it wasn't visible. She didn't think he needed to see that just yet._

" _We can start with the lights," she volunteered, holding up a string. It made more sense to put them on before the ornaments, and it gave him a little time to let it all sink in before they started with the ornaments. The smile he gave her was grateful; he appreciated the slow start. He took the other end of the light strand in his hands and started to help her wrap the tree._

She'd noticed one or two hesitations as he got to certain ornaments, as he looked at them for a moment before looking back up at her, almost as if he'd expected someone else—someone like Jenna—to be standing on the other side of the tree. She understood it, she didn't resent it, but it was hard to watch him deal with the memories when she didn't know what she could do about it.

Besides two or three hesitations, he'd seemed fine. He'd said he loved the tree, and he really had seemed genuine about that. Maybe he had been, but now, a few days later, she wasn't so sure.

The 21st is a Monday, and she'd gotten to his place early for the ride, but she was beginning to think it wasn't such a good idea. The forecast had been predicting a blizzard all day, and it was looking like a weather forecast would actually be right, for once.

As Ryan gets his coat on, she looks back at him from her position at the living room window, concern flickering briefly across her face. "I think tonight might be the night to skip it… it's getting really bad out there; they're saying you shouldn't really drive…"

"I can manage."

"Are you sure?"

He nods, and the worry intensifies as she sees the set of his jaw, how tightly his hands are clenching the zipper of his coat as he fumbles to pull it upwards. By the time they get outside, the snow is coming down even harder, and she can barely see through all the white.

Something is definitely wrong. She tries to reason with him as they get in the car and he starts to pull on his seatbelt. "Ryan, the roads are awful. We'll never make it there in this, and getting back? Forget it."

"Then get out of the car."

His tone is low, dangerous, and the concern and worry she feels suddenly becomes fear—for him. As he starts the car, she takes a breath, tightening her grip on the door handle but not leaving. "No. I'm not leaving."

"Get _out_ of the car!"

"No!" she repeats, more firmly despite the slight shake in her voice, as he pulls out of the driveway and peels down the road, as the speedometer reads about forty miles per hour. Not fast, not normally, but in this kind of snow, it's too much.

"Ryan, just wait until it's cleared up. Or we don't even have to go at all. Just… just turn back or slow down. Just don't drive in this."

He doesn't respond, and she finds herself nearly holding her breath as they get on the highway, despite the protests she's running out of and he's not listening to. The road is empty and practically all white before them—no one is out driving in this. No one is crazy enough to do it. Except for Ryan, who's driving at maybe sixty miles an hour now on a road covered with snow and black ice. She is digging her nails into her palm, her breathing fast and ragged as she tries to reason with him.

"Ryan, please just turn around. It's too dark and it's too dangerous and you shouldn't be driving at all, and not this fast. Just turn the car around."

"We can make it. We can make it there."

"Not if you want to make it there alive!" she practically snaps, the desperate edge in her voice all too obvious, and she realizes just a little too late that this is the wrong thing to say. That it makes him grip the wheel tighter, makes her nails dig into her palm so hard that it hurts.

The words spark a memory, a realization—something she should have realized but didn't. His words from a few days before, about the accident being a few days before Christmas.

 _Shit. Oh, shit._

At this point, the speed they're going combined with the realization of what this day is to him is too much for her, and she's well and truly terrified—no point in hiding that. " _Ryan_ ," she manages, half a sob, half a plea. "Please just pull over. We can wait it out; it'll calm down soon—"

"It never does. They always _say_ that and it never does. We can just keep going—"

"Ryan, _please!_ "

Maybe it's the tears in her own voice that have somehow, without her even noticing, started running down her face. Maybe it's the sound of her heart beating so hard in her ears that she can barely hear herself or him. Maybe it's the overwhelming concern she feels for him, the need to know that he's okay. Something possesses her to undo her seatbelt, reach over, and grab the wheel, pulling hard to the right. Ryan hits the brake, and they somehow manage to skid to a stop just as they reach the shoulder. She puts the car in park and yanks the keys out of the ignition after turning the car off, holding them as tight in her hand as she can, bracing for it.

"What the _hell_ were you just thinking? Jesus, Marissa, you're scaring me!"

" _Good_! You're scaring me!" She practically shouts it, the tears streaming down her face in earnest now. "Driving sixty miles per hour in the snow with black ice doesn't scare the hell out of you? Because it sure as hell does for me, and if you can't see that, then _fuck_ , Ryan!"

She's breathing so hard that it's literally hurting her, but she keeps talking, afraid to stop, afraid for him to stop listening. "I know what day it is. I _know_ you're hurting. I _know_ and I _get_ that, because I'm there, too, but you can't do this, all right? You can't let it destroy you like this, because you just _can't_ , Ryan. It's not healthy and it's not _you_. And… and you can't do this because I want you to still be here. I _need_ you to still be here, Ryan. I just need you."

It's the first time she's let herself say it out loud, besides asking him to stay with her the night she told him about Isobel. She knows, as she says it, that she's telling the truth. He's the only one who has made her smile, made her laugh, in six months, and she doesn't want to face any of this alone anymore. Having someone who understands has made everything so much better, so much brighter. And she hopes that means as much to him as it does to her.

She takes in another deep breath, her chest aching with the effort, and wills him to look at her. Almost bewildered, his eyes meet hers, and he seems to have snapped out of it. He reaches out with one hand, cupping her tear-stained cheek and wiping a few stray tears away with his thumb. He leans in until their foreheads touch, and she can feel his breath on her lips, so close that she shudders, overcome. Fear of him breaking still lingers, but it's mixed with her fear of having him so close, of them reaching this point, of whether or not he's ready for this. She doesn't know what she's more afraid of—her hurting him, or him hurting her. If he'll pull away again after all of this, after everything she just told him…

Those thoughts last all of thirty seconds, because they're wiped out of her mind the second his lips touch hers in the softest kiss imaginable, a feather-light brush of his lips against hers. The hand not cupping her cheek trails down to her back, his warm hand pressing against her sweater, and she finds herself kissing him back, limiting herself to an equally soft kiss, leaving it up to him.

He kisses her just a bit harder, and she responds, following his lead until they've gone as far as they can without tongue or hands all over each other or any of that. She finally breaks for air, flushed, burning hot despite the freezing cold, feeling his hands slip away from her with reluctance. She can feel her lips swollen from it all, touches them hesitantly with one finger, almost wondering if it really happened.

"Are you all right?" she asks quietly, not knowing what else to say to the fact that they'd just kissed on the worst possible day for him. Was it wrong?

He nods, looking out at the snow—much lighter now—before back at her. "I have to start making something good out of this day eventually," he says, quieter than she's ever heard him. "It can't always be like before. I don't want it to always be like before."

She reaches over, taking his hand with the hand not holding the car keys. "It won't be," she whispers, running her thumb over the back of his hand. "It won't be."

* * *

Marissa drives them slowly back to the house, after Ryan tells her it's best. She doesn't want to chance the drive back home, and he tells her to stay. As he goes upstairs, she follows, going into the bedroom with him and standing in the doorway as he sits on the bed. She waits a long time, leaning against the doorjamb, until he speaks.

"I'm sorry. For earlier, and the past few days. I just wasn't in the right place."

"You don't have to apologize. I get it."

His back is to her, but she sees him lean his elbows on his knees, running his hands over his face and through his hair. "Yeah, but you were terrified. Don't think I didn't hear it."

"You would've had to be deaf not to." She straightens up and walks over to the bed, kneeling in front of him and putting her hands on his knees. "The reason you scared me was… you were hurting so badly and I couldn't do anything about it. I know it's been hard for you lately. I know the holidays are going to be hard, too. But you've got me, okay? I'm here. I can just… listen, if you need that. Anything you need, you've got me."

He puts his hands over hers, and she takes it as him accepting the offer, slowly twining their fingers together. She watches his face as he speaks, saying, "The Cohens want me in Newport for Christmas. The McKeevers—Jenna's family—they might be there. And it's been… so long. So long since I've seen them, since I've even been back there… I guess what I'm saying is… is that I'd like it if you were there."

She rocks back onto her heels, considering. She doesn't want to say no—she knows that if he's asking, it's not for nothing, that he really does want her there. Going back to Newport means seeing everyone again. Her father will probably be there. Summer definitely will be, and is she ready to face her former best friend after twelve years? She's not worried about her sister. But then there's her mother…

More particularly, there's her mother and Ryan, neither of whom ever exactly warmed to each other. Thinking about it, though, makes her realize that she can't avoid it forever. She's twenty-eight, and her mother will have to live with not being able to control her decisions the way she'd tried to while she was in high school. And Ryan… well, she'll try as hard as she can to keep him out of the crossfire. He's got enough stress already.

She nods, taking in a slow breath. "Okay. I'll see about a plane ticket tomorrow. Hopefully we'll have a Christmas miracle on our hands."

"Yeah, probably should have thought of this sooner." He laughs just a little, and the sound of it makes her heart lift. He moves back to the left side of the bed, pulling her up with him so that she's lying on the right side. He rests his right arm beneath her, his hand on her arm, and she drapes her other arm over him, staying close.

After a minute, she raises her head to look at him, saying softly, "Answer me honestly. Are you really okay?"

His hand moves from her arm to her hair, smoothing it. "Maybe not yet. But I will be."


	7. I'll Be Home for Christmas

VII.

I'll Be Home for Christmas

 _Thursday, December 24th_

Packing was still something that was somewhat foreign to him. When he'd left Chino, he'd basically gone with the clothes on his back and what little he could stuff in a backpack. Even when he'd moved to New York, he hadn't had much to pack—the McKeevers had already packed away the house for him; all that had been left was his clothes and a few other things.

So it took him a while to pack for his return to Newport, after he'd done a few loads of laundry and found himself staring at the business clothes he hadn't worn in two years. Christmas dinner with the Cohens required at least a shirt and tie; he wanted to show them he was trying, because he was. The clothes were a return to form, the type of thing he'd had to wear for meetings with clients and the like, but it was still like looking at remnants of another life.

He'd folded a few button-downs and some ties, throwing in some t-shirts, jeans, and dress pants while he was at it. He'd called Kirsten to let her know that he was coming, and to ask if she was all right with Marissa coming, too. (Luck had been on their side; a plane ticket had still been available.) She'd welcomed Marissa to come, no problem, and had added that they were welcome to stay to New Year's, if they wanted. He'd told her they'd see how things panned out, and none of them had to say it to know that he meant, above all, things with Julie.

After he'd packed the Christmas gifts in with his clothes, he went into the bathroom, grabbing his shower things and razor to throw in with the rest. He hesitated before he grabbed the bottle with his pain pills, packing it. His shoulder had still been giving him trouble lately, and it was better safe than sorry.

So after the trials and travails of packing, he found himself with Marissa in the waiting area of the airport, waiting for their flight to begin boarding. It had been an early morning, and she was asleep against his shoulder, some of her hair falling over her face. He brushed it back and then just watched her for a while, listening to her steady breathing. The smallest things could fascinate him, could remind him of the things he'd forgotten that he loved to look for.

Since the anniversary, they'd talked on the phone, too busy with Christmas shopping and preparations to really see each other, and, true to her word, she'd listened. He hadn't realized how much he had to say until he'd had someone to say it to. Similarly, she'd told him about Isobel, had actually been able to laugh about some of the memories.

The drive that night had really been a wakeup call. For two years, he'd been grieving, doing the bare minimum to survive, living without really _living_. It had taken something that could've killed himself and Marissa to make him see that it wasn't something he could do anymore.

When he hears their flight number called, he gently rouses her and gets up, grabbing his bags. She combs through her hair with her fingers for a few seconds before getting up herself, taking her things and following him to the gate.

"Here goes nothing," she murmurs, and he can't agree more.

* * *

Kirsten is the one who picks them up from the airport, and he can't even pretend not to have noticed the relief on her face when she sees him well and even somewhat happy. It's been two years since he saw her last, and nothing except seeing him in person appears to have assuaged her concerns.

He returns the hug she gives him and then steps back, motioning to Marissa. "Not like you two haven't already met, but…"

"Of course. It's so nice to see you again," Kirsten says to Marissa, giving her a smile. "Your father told me you were in New York; none of us knew you were so close by to Ryan."

"Neither did we," Marissa laughs a little. "Coincidence. A good one, though."

They spend the drive answering questions from Kirsten about the snow, the people, the places in New York, and Ryan tells her the saga of the plastic Christmas tree, something that seems to reassure her about his wellbeing. He notices that she seems to approve of him being with Marissa, and it puts his nerves at ease the slightest bit. Wondering about how the McKeevers might feel is what's setting him on edge. He knows they'll be happy for him, but he knows that that another anniversary gone was probably as hard on them as it was for him. Emotions are running high, and he has no idea what might happen.

Kirsten helps them unload their bags and points towards the pool house. "We'll be full up with Seth and Summer, so I thought the pool house might still be good for the two of you…?"

It's still difficult for him to think about, to remember sitting there in those two months, with his broken body and spirits, but it's always been his home there, and even the memories can't touch that. "Yeah, that's fine. When is Seth coming, anyway?"

"Around six o'clock, or at least that's what he told me. Cohen Standard Time, we can count on them at seven," she laughs, running some of her fingers through her hair and checking her watch. "I should be helping Sandy with the food. And by helping, I mean going through the cabinets and handing him what he needs. The two of you are all right with your luggage? Okay. We should be sitting down to eat around seven thirty; that'll give you time to settle in."

By the time six o'clock rolls around, they're washing up and getting dressed, and Ryan realizes that this is another one of the things he'd missed. He and Jenna had had to go to many parties and events for his business, rubbing elbows and all of that, and there'd been a lot of shuffling in and out of the shared bathroom, tying ties and zipping zippers, and just laughing in general about the ridiculously complicated process of dressing for these things.

He stands in front of the mirror on the main room's wall, finally managing to get the proper knot out of his tie. He'd learned how to do it well when he was about 22; Sandy had reminded him that that was three years before he had, so he was on the right track. He pauses for a second, remembering the day of the fashion show, Sandy having to help him with the tie. It had been one of those moments when it had really hit him, the things a father was supposed to teach a son, the things he'd never really learned.

Now that he thinks of it, the things he probably would have been teaching Cody.

"Hey, Ryan?" He looks up as he hears Marissa call out from the bathroom. "Could you help me get my zipper?"

He goes into the bathroom, taking the zipper on her dress and zipping it for her. "Still can't reach, I see."

"Quiet." She smoothes the dress out with her hands and then turns to face him, holding her arms out from her sides and then spinning a little. "So? Good enough?"

"It's… more than that. You look amazing." And he can barely manage that, because the sight of her really does leave him speechless. She's pulled her hair into a nice twist, a tortoiseshell clip holding it in place, and it's clear that she's put time and effort into this. But the dress is what really makes him look. Falling to her knees, it's plain black, strapped, and fits well to her figure, but not so well as to be indecent or excessive. It at least reassures him, makes him realize that she's improving—when they'd met again, that first night in the group, he'd noticed how ill-fitting her clothes had been, how she'd lost weight, been paler. Now, with color back in her cheeks and a little weight back on her figure, filling out her curves, the difference is really striking.

She gives him that smile, and he leans in to give her a quick kiss, before holding up his bottle of cologne and his shaving things. "I just need to shave for a minute and then we can go in."

"Sure, no problem." She leaves the bathroom, sitting down on the bed to wait for him, noticing that his bag is open on the floor. She reaches down to zip it shut for him, and the motion of her hands as she does so makes something roll to the front of the bag, visible through the unzipped part.

She picks it up, confused, wondering why Ryan has a prescription bottle in his bag, similar to the ones of Isobel's antidepressants still sitting in the medicine cabinets in her home. It's that always-recognizable bright orange plastic, with one of those impossible caps. _Ryan Atwood_. Says it right there on the label. The name of the medication isn't familiar, but she can hazard a guess from the instructions that it's painkillers. The thing is, she doesn't remember him getting injured recently.

She shoves the pill bottle back in his bag, zipping it like she'd planned, taking in a breath. She's confused and, admittedly, scared. The last pills she'd seen were Isobel's, and, well…

She stands as she hears the bathroom door open, as Ryan comes out freshly shaved and adjusting the knot in his tie. "Ready?" he asks, holding out his arm to her, almost as a joke, and she takes it.

Before she can stop herself, she blurts out, "Ryan?"

He sees the anxiety in her face and stands still, wondering what it is—if it's about seeing Summer again, about being back in Newport, about the lingering question of her mother. "What is it?"

She almost asks, almost wants to demand to know if he's been keeping anything from her, but she looks outside, sees the inviting atmosphere of the Cohens' household, knows everyone's waiting. She thinks of Ryan telling her he doesn't often talk, thinks of the number of times she's kept things from others. Thinks of how it would be unfair to force him, to ask him now of all times.

So she forces a smile onto her face and waves a hand, turning in the direction of the house. "It's… it's nothing. Nothing that can't wait until later."

And as they start to walk to the house, she tries to make herself believe that.

 _It's nothing. It has to be nothing._

* * *

It's a lie. He knows that. Whatever _nothing_ she wanted to ask him about is a great big _something_ , which was obvious from the look on her face before she'd put on that forced smile. She wasn't exactly making the effort to hide the lie.

He doesn't want to question her, even if he knows he should. Now isn't exactly the right time to get into it, anyway. So after she reassures him she's fine, they walk to the house and in, each of them seemingly needing to take a breath before they do.

Sandy is in the kitchen with Kirsten, who checks her watch and laughs. "Like I said, it's six o'clock and they're not here, so count on seven. Marissa, I could use your help setting up some of the appetizers, if you're okay with that?"

Marissa nods, and Sandy enlists Ryan's help in some last-minute tree decorating, leaving them alone in the kitchen. As Kirsten goes into the cabinets to find plates, she talks over her shoulder. "Seth and Sandy never trusted me to prepare the food; this is about the closest they'll let me get. I accepted my role in the preparations a long time ago. Besides, it's nice to let the boys do the work once in a while."

She puts the plates down on the counter, smiling faintly and shaking her head, before her expression becomes more serious. "This is the first holiday we've had Ryan for in two years. The first year, I don't think he even moved from his room. He was still recovering and he was just… well, you've probably seen the way he's been." She pauses from pouring apple sauce for the latkes on a plate, looking up and brushing some hair behind her ear, looking Marissa in the eye. "It's been… a long time since we've seen him at all, let alone happy. From what Sandy's told me, and seeing him today, seeing the change…" She considers her words for a second or two before she continues. "Marissa, I know that most of it is because of you, and we just… really want to thank you. You're making him happier than you know."

Marissa ducks her head, blinking back what feels like tears—happy ones, though, which is a welcome change from the past six months. She can't even put into words how Ryan makes her feel the same way. How these days, it's even gotten easier to be alone, because she knows that Ryan is always around, that either of them can call the other if they need to. Losing Isobel isn't as crushing as it once was, and she's starting to realize that.

"I think I have an idea," she says, quieter than she means to, and she offers Kirsten a small smile. "He's… having him has been a lifesaver, these past few weeks. He's been helping me, too."

* * *

Sandy asks Ryan if he can go get one of the boxes of ornaments from the attic, and Ryan agrees, heading up the stairs and into the hallway. He doesn't think of it at first, until he stops, seeing the pictures. And as much as he'd expected to be paralyzed, to get that numb feeling he'd gotten from sitting with the videos over the last two years, he finds that he can stop, look, remember the good times.

There's more than a few pictures of the four of them in the past—the Cohens and him. Their first Chrismukkah together, that one still has a place of honor right at the top of the stairs. Him and Seth graduating from college. His wedding, then Seth and Summer's.

He can see the blank spot on the wall, square and faded to a lighter color than the rest, an empty space. And he remembers what used to hang there, and the day two years ago that he took it down.

 _It's two in the morning and everyone in their right mind is asleep right now, but he can't exactly say he's in his right mind, or that he's been sleeping lately. No, insomnia is apparently what comes with pain, whether it's the physical pain of his shoulder or the much worse pain in his heart._

 _Coming home from the hospital, he'd seen it, something they hadn't thought of moving. They'd been spending hours waiting for him to wake up; he was sure the last thing on their minds had been preparing the house. They wouldn't have thought of taking it down, but he did._

 _The picture frame is heavier than he would've thought, a dense metal that's tough to handle with one hand, with his other arm still in a sling because of his damn shoulder. He grits his teeth as he takes down the frame, ignoring the pain slicing through his other shoulder and down his arm at the movement. He somehow manages to pull the attic steps from the ceiling, climbing up and putting the photo away where he knows he won't have to see it again._

He takes a breath before he pulls the steps down again, climbing up to the attic, mercifully not feeling any pain in his shoulder. It's the damp in the New York air that's been bothering him lately; the warmth of California seems to be helping.

He finds the box of ornaments with ease, seeing as it's the last one, and then stays there, rooting around. He finds what he's looking for in a far corner of the top shelf, pulling it down and looking.

It's the picture of him and Jenna in the hospital, holding Cody. Jenna, exhausted but smiling, the hospital ID band hanging loosely from her wrist, cradling their son in her arms for the first time. He can remember the smile he'd given the camera once he sees it right in front of him.

And what surprises him the most is that he can smile, seeing it. He's never been at that point before. Two years ago, seeing this reminder of that life would have made him want to punch something; a year ago, he just would've wanted a drink.

It's different now.

"I found someone, Jen," he says quietly, knowing it's ridiculous to talk to a picture, as if she can hear him, but it slips out before he can stop himself. "I told you about her a few times. Knew her once when we were younger. And I didn't think I'd ever find her again, but… but I think there's a reason I did. Sandy told me you'd be happy for me. And I'd like to think he's right."

He sits for a minute more, before he kisses his fingers and presses them briefly to the dusty frame, putting the photo back on the shelf and rubbing the dust from his fingers. And he grabs the box of the ornaments and heads back downstairs.

* * *

Around 6:45, he finds Marissa in the kitchen, sipping at a glass of water and looking out the window at the covered pool and the rest of the yard. Sandy and Kirsten are setting the table in the dining room, and he wants to take a minute alone with her before all the madness, to make sure she's okay with it all.

"Hey," he says softly, and she starts for a second, setting down the glass of water. He walks to her, putting his arm gently around her waist and letting his hand rest at her hip. "You all right?"

She nods, but there's a slight distance in her look. "Just… remembering. Being next door. Is it weird that I miss it some days?"

He shakes his head, knowing that he misses it here, too, despite the memories, despite the pain. He's realizing it even more, being back here. "No. Not weird."

She steps closer as he faces her, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on. Surprised and a little confused, he wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her close and breathing in the scent of her hair before asking. "What is it? What you wanted to ask me before… is it bothering you?"

She nods against his chest, looking up at him with a certain fear in her eyes that scares him. Has he done anything to upset her? He thinks back and can't remember a thing that would, but he nods slightly, encouraging her to go on, to say it.

"I was zipping your bag for you and I… I didn't mean to find it, it just kind of fell out… the prescription bottle." She's fumbling over her words, and he can feel her trembling, almost. "And I just—I know there's a reason for them and I know there's probably a reason you haven't mentioned it, but the last time I saw pills was Isobel and I can't—"

"Hey, hey." Concerned, he cups her cheek with his hand and wipes away a tear he's sure she didn't want to fall. He realizes for the first time how fragile she still is. For the past few weeks, she's been the one focused on him, and it's easy to forget sometimes that she needs him, too. The regret over not telling her about the pills comes fast and hard. He speaks softly, rubbing one of his hands gently along her back, trying to calm her down.

"They're for my shoulder. Every once in a while, it acts up because of the damp, and some days it's worse than others. It's not an everyday thing. I didn't want to tell you because I thought it would worry you if you knew I still had pain. That's all they are, okay? That's all."

She nods, holding him tighter, and he kisses the top of her head before standing there with her, letting her pull away when she's ready.

She wipes at her eyes with her wrist, then laughs a bit. "I should probably fix my makeup."

He nods in agreement, laughing a little, too, but he grabs her hand before she goes to leave. "I didn't mean to scare you. I'm sorry I did."

She steps back to him, kissing him gently as a reassurance, then reaching out to straighten his tie. "It's okay. I'm glad you told me now. Just… if you're ever in pain, don't try to hide it, okay?"

"And if you ever want to ask me something, ask me. Don't let it fester like that. Deal?"

She smiles, agreeing softly, "Deal."

She takes her purse from the counter, and he points her towards the bathroom so she can fix her makeup. As the door closes behind her and he walks into the hallway, the sound of the door opening and shutting, accompanied by voices, means only one thing.

Seth and Summer.


End file.
